


Shadows and Nightingales

by boringmuse



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera (2004), Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Dark, F/M, Gaston Leroux - Freeform, Phantom of the Opera AU, Supernatural Elements, based mostly on the novel and movie since I haven't seen the musical rip, fantasy-ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 08:08:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17199758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boringmuse/pseuds/boringmuse
Summary: "[The shadows] came each night, taking on various forms, forms that both delighted her child’s heart but which also made her want to scream with terror. Some nights, when she was feeling particularly morose, [they] would comfort her. They’d emerge from whatever corners they inhabited, wrapping around her body in gentle caress, and hum a soft lullaby. It made her feel better, at least for a little while. But the next moment they’d be angry shadows, seething dark dust, dancing a malevolent, rage-filled waltz around her head. Those times, she felt like running away. Her limbs were always shackled."A more mystical, romantic, and twisted take on Gaston Leroux's Phantom of the Opera.(Will update this summary later.)





	Shadows and Nightingales

A young, pale child lay sleeping, entangled with the satin sheets of her small bed. All was dark; the entire room was drenched in inky night, yet her face— lucent, somber— provided a temporary illumination. Her chest rose and fell in steady measure, red pinprick of a mouth effusing the breaths.

Something in the vicinity lurched— perhaps imagined, perhaps concrete. The girl fluttered open her eyelids as she felt a shudder creeping through her ribs. Each hair stood on end. At first she did not notice anything amiss; it was her familiar bedroom, with the rich, blue draperies and wooden armoire and the worn fairy-tale books her father often read to her stacked precariously on the bedside table.

But then she saw the shadows.

They came each night, taking on various forms, forms that both delighted her child’s heart but which also made her want to scream with terror. Some nights, when she was feeling particularly morose, the shadows would comfort her. They’d emerge from whatever corners they inhabited, wrapping around her body in gentle caress, and hum a soft lullaby. It made her feel better, at least for a little while. But the next moment they’d be angry shadows, seething dark dust, dancing a malevolent, rage-filled waltz around her head. Those times, she felt like running away. Her limbs were always shackled.

Tonight, the only thing she felt was a consuming desire to weep. Not out of sadness, but because she was tired of these— these visits, these hauntings. She wanted dreams, brilliant dreams of fairytale lands and diamond kingdoms. She longed to run, unbound, in swaying pink fields, to lose herself in reams of golden light and magic and infinity. Upon sensing these feelings, the shadows stopped trying to humor her.

_Christine._

The child looked up, pulse quickening. She had never heard them speak before. Hum, yes, but that was all. She reached out her fingers to grasp the dark tendrils; they slid away as if afraid. Tears began to slip from her eyes. Her tiny frame split into sobs that flooded the room.

_Don’t cry._

The shadows started to heave and spasm, stretch and contort, uniting until they roughly resembled the outline of a man. The figure was indistinct, practically featureless, but donned a thin slip of a mask that gleamed noticeably. He took Christine’s small hand in his and opened his lips.

What occurred next forced each rebellious tear back into its recesses. Such a sound! Pure, unadulterated splendor, coursing like viscid energy through the bedchamber, lapping up any remaining traces of sorrow. A song composed of notes so ethereal that reality momentarily became a relic— all issued from the cords of this apparition! Christine had lost herself within it, now wearing an expression of both wonder and envy.

The man stopped, shrouding the room in silence once more. “That was lovely,” she gasped, eyes glistening.

_Would you like to learn?_

She nodded. Lifting her curious gaze, she could see cracks jutting across the man’s neck, and a dozen songbirds suddenly tore through his throat, filling the distance between the two of them.

 _Nightingales,_ he said, letting one perch upon his finger. With another, he gently stroked the velvet plumage.

A huge smile broke across her face as she watched the creatures float about serenely; and, all at once, they became violent, flying straight at her. Christine opened her mouth in formation of a scream, but the cavity was filled by feathers and bones and before she knew it she had already swallowed the birds, feeling them flapping vigorously inside her ribcage. In fright she wrung her hands across her own neck, letting out a few loud gasps and licking her lips to make sure she hadn't imagined anything. A few spots of bitter blood coated her tongue; horrified, she yelped, "What did you do to me?"

Though he only had a vague suggestion of a countenance, the young girl swore she could see the man smiling. _Goodnight,_ he whispered, and without a sound his form began to melt and wane, dissolving once more into the shadows she knew all too well.

They evaporated, and she was left alone.

 


End file.
